Vortex
by SomewhereApart
Summary: While searching for a way to free Emma from the Darkness, Robin and Regina find themselves shipwrecked. Based on a manip by @starscythe


Emma should never have taken on the darkness.

That's all she can think as she sits here on this beach. It should have been her. She's already tasted darkness, she's already learned to control it, and she has no doubt that The Darkness-with-a-capital-D is unlike anything that's lived inside of her before, but still—she'd have known where to start.

She might have killed them all. Zelena, for sure. It's a dark and ugly thought but she knows if she'd had that much ugly malevolence coursing through her veins, her sister and that baby she's carrying would both be dead. It's a thought that makes her feel sick, and dark, and evil, so she shoves it down and away. Hides it behind the fear that Robin might have fallen to her overblown wrath, too. That this anger she tries to pretend she doesn't have, for his sake, could have destroyed them.

Still, she thinks… she hopes… she could have kept it at bay. Just enough. At the very least, there could be a Savior with better luck than her—the actual _Savior_ , without all that sticky darkness to weigh her down.

Emma would have had better luck—she has _always_ fucking had better luck.

She wouldn't be sitting here on a beach, watching a bunch of wannabe pirates try to repair a boat. She'd probably be _helping_ them fix it, with her bare hands, instead of sitting here like a lump feeling useless.

She's never liked boats. They should have just stayed behind. Sent the pirate and the Charmings on this voyage across the sea to find the fabled Arrow of Apollo. An archer is required to find it—Snow would have done just fine. But they'll also need someone who can interpret the text of the tome that's currently drying on the log beside her (she'd had the good sense to seal the ink before the journey, but the pages are soggy and soft—even more delicate now than before, especially until they've dried). And that someone, unfortunately, is her.

After what happened at the ball, she's not willing to waste another minute of the time she and Robin have managed to steal from the fates. So it'd been Robin to serve as archer, and Regina to serve as witch, and Hook to serve as Captain, and here they are.

Captained right into a fucking beach.

She could fix the ship in a heartbeat with her magic, but it would be an expenditure and she can't afford that right now. She needs to keep her strength up for when they reach their destination. So she'll let the men fix their stupid boat as best they can, and then she might finish off a few mending patches at the end.

The repairs will cost them a day, but they can spare one.

A shadow falls beside her just before Robin's rump lands next to her on the log with a little grunt. He's not helping with the repairs either—something he thinks is ridiculous, but it was so recently he had his guts ripped open, she'd frankly forbidden him from all the lifting and hauling and pulling. The wound may have been stitched shut with magic, but that doesn't mean it's not still _healing_ , and if it somehow got reinjured there's nobody here to mend him. She won't risk him dying again just to pay for her sins.

He'd said she was being over protective, overcautious (he'd been right), but he'd acquiesced anyway, sulking off to talk to Granny about something while Regina fussed over the drenched tome.

That had been hours ago, though, and she hadn't seen much of him since. Not until now. He holds out a heavy wineskin in offering and tells her, "I found you a bit of water, love."

She's parched. Hot and thirsty and baking in the midday sun, but she frowns anyway, eyes it warily and reminds him, "Seawater is undrinkable."

"I do know that," he teases back like she's foolish for even suggesting it, and she supposes she is—of the two of them, Robin is the one far better equipped for surviving off the land. "I've been off scouting for temporary shelter, and discovered a fresh stream a ways up the beach. It runs down into the sea, but the water is fresh and cool." He gives it another little push in her direction, adding, "And you're parched and irritable—and wounded."

She'd scraped a gouge in her arm on a broken piece of wood and had to bandage it haphazardly. It burns, but it's bearable.

"I am not irritable," she gripes, irritably, as she takes the wineskin from his hand and lifts it to her lips. The water is cool and fresh, as promised, and God it feels good. She gulps and gulps and gulps some more, draining a good half of it before she drops it from her lips with a satisfied gasp.

Robin is smirking at her.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs innocently, taking the water from her and stealing a few gulps himself.

She knows exactly _what_ and he knows it, so she shrugs and admits, "I might be a little irritable. But I'm hot, and we're temporarily stranded, and my arm is sore, and I feel useless."

"You're not useless," he assures. "You're injured, and you're important. You have to reserve your strength."

"I know that," she bites, and yes, she _is_ irritable. "I just wish I knew this would work. I wish I knew _anything_ would work." His hand falls on hers, too hot, but she doesn't pull away and she doesn't look at him. She doesn't have to. She knows the looks of supportive sympathy he'd wear, and she knows the way it will fall to frustration as she whispers, "It should have been me. It came for me. She shouldn't have taken it."

"She wanted to spare you," he tells her softly, shifting close, drawing her in. "And I've never been so grateful to anyone as I was to her that night. You don't deserve that burden any more than anyone else, Regina. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's no reason for a person to be saddled with malevolence."

"It sought me out," she tells him, because it's true and they all know it. "Darkness seeks out darkness. Like seeks out like."

"She made her choice, Regina," Robin soothes, and for a moment she lets him, leaning into his side with a heavy sigh. "She loves you; she didn't want the darkness for you. And she knew—knows—that you will do everything in your power to free her. And you _are_. We'll get the Arrow, and we'll return home, and we'll free Merlin, and he'll cure her."

"I wish I had your optimism…"

Robin nudges against her (gently, wary of her injured arm), and says sweetly, "Use mine for the both of us."

She looks at him, then, a small smile blooming on her face as she lifts a hand to settle over his heart. It's not the first time he's said those words to her, and if she doesn't think past what happened in the barn that day, borrowing a bit of Robin's heart for her own had done her wonders.

So she'll try. She'll use his optimism, his hope, and she'll hitch her wagon to it and try to let it be enough.

"In the meantime…" Robin says to her, "That stream I found leads back into a thicket of trees, and there's a little pool there. A shallow eddy with a nice clearing around it. I was going to suggest we make camp there for the night, but the men will be a while with their repairs…" Warm fingertips fall onto the even warmer skin of her forearm, trailing there lightly as his voice drops low, suggesting, "Maybe we could take advantage and get out of this sun for a bit."

Out of the sun and into the water—an implication she does not miss.

Her lips curve, her head tilts, she says, "Oh?"

"Mm," he nods, gaze dropping to her lips. "It was really quite pleasant beneath the canopy—warm but not oppressive, and the water, as you know, is quite brisk. Dare I say we might find it… refreshing."

It sounds heavenly—both the cool water and the relief from the sun. She's sticky with sweat and dried seawater, and the dress she'd worn for seafaring isn't helping much. It's heavy, and salty, and still a little damp in places.

And then there's the way Robin is looking at her—mischievous and knowing. Impish, she thinks is the word. He wants to sneak off for a little rendezvous under the trees, and despite her dark mood, Regina thinks she just might agree.

She tries to get in the game, tries to shake off her dark cloud and tease, "I don't think I'm dressed for swimming, do you?"

"One doesn't dress for swimming," Robin argues. "One undresses."

She chuckles at that, and then he's leaning in, lips pressing to hers, soft and soothing and wonderful. As he pulls back, his index finger skims her jaw, making her shiver. It lingers there as he murmurs, "Would you like to take a dip, my love?"

They shouldn't be here. _She_ shouldn't be here. All of this should be different.

But they _are_ here, and there's nothing for either of them to do just now.

So maybe she'll steal another moment that ought not to be hers and sneak off with her soulmate to skinnydip under the trees.

Nobody pays any mind to them leaving, and nobody follows.

Robin offers to help her with her dress, and after that, well… they've worked up a good sweat by the time they slip naked into the eddy, the swirling water a pleasant relief.

It's a quiet moment, a private one, a wonderful one. Regina doesn't much like boats, and she doesn't much like feeling useless, and she doesn't much like being the Savior. But as the water washes away the grime of sweat, and sea, and sex, she tells herself to stop thinking of the swirling vortex of darkness that had gotten them here and just enjoy the damn moment for once.

While she can.


End file.
